The Agent
by Alex GD
Summary: This is the story of a noble-tuned-renegade. Born to wealthy parents, follow her and her husband as they encounter the struggles that come with being Stormcloak agents and the effect it has on their family life. From hushed-up assassinations to public executions, these are the daily activities of The Agent.
1. Homecoming

Agent Cheryl

Homecoming

The cold air was filled with fog and mist. The horses' hooves clattered along the cobble-filled road. Young Cheryl Ravencrone was returning to Skyrim after five years of training to be a proper lady in her mother's seat of power in Cyrodiil. Skyrim was, after all, the true home of the Ravencrone Family. She was on her way to Morthal to be with her aunt, Idgrod at her court. She hadn't visited in three years. She looked forward to seeing her cousins, uncle, aunt as well as her friends in the town.

The carriage stopped, abruptly on orders to halt by an imperial commander. As the carriage paused, Cheryl peered out to inspect the situation. Seconds later, she saw multitudes of imperials, staring at the opposite side of the road. The young girl looked behind the carriage to find swarms of other soldiers clad in blue led by a middle-aged man in a fur cloak. The events that ensued jogged Cheryl's memory back to reading a copy of the black horse courier in the drawing room in the family mansion in the Anvil countryside. The blue-clad soldiers were Stormcloaks, so-called because their leader was Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion in Skyrim.

She thought their cause was just and held a deep dislike of Emperor Titus Mede II for bowing down to the Thalmor. She knew she would never be able to join their ranks so she hoped to contribute to their cause in any way possible. The imperial captain approached the carriage. I apologise for the disturbance, milady. We'll be off with our captives now." The captain said, apologetically.

They continued down the rocky road to Morthal. The winter winds blew, and the snow fell upon the land. The hours dragged by and soon, Morthal candles were in sight. They descended down the rocky slope into the village where the townsfolk and royal court greeted them. "Here she is!" the crowds cheered, clapping her entrance. She had no idea she had been so missed.

She stepped out of the carriage to see her family with welcoming smiles on their faces. She had forgotten how cold it was and thanked her audience for braving such temperatures, making them glance at each other, puzzled by her grateful remark. She was ushered inside by guards as well as the rest of her family. "Welcome back to Morthal." Idgrod the Younger said, grinning. "Will you be dining with us for tea, tonight?" Her aunt quizzed her, wasting no time. "Yes I shall, if you'd have me." The young girl said, remembering her place as a relative/guest at court.

She settled down in the court for the next few weeks, enjoying her aunt's hospitality. One night after dinner, her aunt cornered her in the guest bedroom, alone. She told her of the unrest in Morthal in recent months. "Trouble is stirring in Hjaalmarch and it is not safe for a young outsider like yourself to linger here, so I ask you, when do you intend to leave Morthal?" Cheryl was shocked at this sudden query. Unprepared for such a question, the young lady replied: "I shall leave as soon as I have arranged alternate accommodation." In a firm but fair tone. She had caught up with old friends as well as made new associates through the town. She also caught the eye of many men, including her aunt's housecarl, Gorm. She had often consoled a heartbroken Thonnir, devastated by his wife's abrupt disappearance, and of course, the greatest warrior in Morthal, Benor. Out of all the men in Morthal, she thought Benor the most attractive and had spent a lot of time with him, sharing stories of growing up and she would listen to his tales of bravery and valour.

She decided to stay at the inn the following night and prepared to leave Morthal altogether. She liked her newfound freedom and pondered adventuring round the frontier, maybe hunting and possibly joining the Stormcloaks, since she admired their principles so much.

Early in the morning, she packed her satchel and bid farewell to the villagers. Benor, who wasn't even aware of her departure, stopped her and proposed to her in more ways than one. "Cheryl, don't leave. I have something to show you." He said, stopping her as she approached the exit of the village. He produced an amulet of Mara and put it around his neck. "Will you marry me?" He asked, kneeling down on one knee. She gasped and accepted his request. "Yes, yes, yes!" She said, jumping in excitement into her fiancée's big, muscular arms. "Then we'll go adventuring around Skyrim together." Benor said.

The couple put what little money they had together to buy an extra-large carriage, triple the size of the ordinary carriage, with a small double bed in the interior of the carriage, as well as seats and an indoor horse-control system with reins attached to the horses from inside the carriage. Benor took the reins atop the carriage with Cheryl riding shotgun beside him.

Their first stop was Riften to conduct the ceremony and wed one another. The road was hard and harsh but they got there after two days of riding. They arranged the ceremony with Maramal, the temple priest who conducted the ceremony. Their wedding took place the following week, allowing friends and relatives to arrive in Riften.

Cheryl's parents, though disappointed at their daughters chosen mate, agreed to attend the wedding. The temple was alive with buzzing and the bride was being made over. She wore her best dress, fine blue clothes, a dark turquoise cloak over her cream dress, beads and jewels adorning the dress.

The couple then left for Fort Dawnguard, where they heard an ex-vigil of Stendarr was recruiting people to hunt down vampires. They were sent to Dimhollow Crypt where they retrieved a centuries-old vampire and escorted her back to her castle off the coast of High Rock. There, they were offered the gift of being a Vampire Lord by the vampires' father, Lord Harkon Volkihar. They refused, but were set upon by the vampires who transformed them themselves. So began the darker chapter of their marriage.


	2. The Northwatch Raid

The Agent

The Northwatch Raid

Eight months after they escaped the Volkihar Vampires Coven, Cheryl and Benor had now become expectant parents. Cheryl was now seven months pregnant and, according to the estimation of Arcadia in Whiterun, only a matter of days away from giving birth. They would always journey into Whiterun every few weeks to get an update on the pregnancy. They were making plans to slow down their adventuring life once the child was born and begun raising funds to purchase a house in Whiterun, as they would be free of Empire V Stormcloak squabbles, due to Jarl Balgruuf 's neutrality in the Civil War.

Cheryl and Benor were being pulled ever closer to the Stormcloaks, as their treatment by Imperial soldiers was less than satisfactory. Cheryl remembered the sadness she felt when she learnt of her aunt's allegiance in the war. Benor rode their huge carriage toward Windhelm, where they had intentions of joining Ulfric. It wasn't a decision they took lightly. They were both displeased with the Imperial government and Ulfric offered them sanctuary, far away from Castle Volkihar, where they wouldn't have to live a life on the run from both the Dawnguard _and_ The Volkihar Coven.

They were asked a series of questions by Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced mainly if they had any warfare or espionage experience before, to which they confirmed they had (even though they hadn't). Nevertheless, they underwent a training programme that lasted four weeks. By the end of the four weeks, Cheryl was a fully-fledged spy, and days away from birth. Three day s after she was officially inducted as a Stormcloak spy, she gave birth to a little girl, Sofie.

They left Windhelm with their new-born daughter and their first assignment: free a Stormcloak prisoner from where he was being held. Luckily, the prisoners' family was situated in Whiterun; The Gray-Manes. Cheryl left her family in their mega-carriage outside Whiterun. She investigated the family and approached Fralia Gray-Mane one night after she closed her stall. She stalked her in the shadows, and approached the old lady, enquiring about her son. "Excuse me. Are you the mother of Thorald Gray-Mane ?" She asked, stopping her from entering her house, seconds after the woman put her key in the door. "I might be." She said, looking to face the stranger who had confronted her. "I'm a Stormcloak Operative and we've received orders to free your son from where he is being held captive."

On orders from the woman, she followed her inside, her dagger drawn in case it was a trap. Once inside, they were welcomed by an axe-wielding Nord who sheathed his weapon on instruction from his mother. Fralia explained she was there to help them discover Thorald's location. The Nord introduced himself as Avulstein Gray-Mane, eldest child of Eorlund and Fralia. "We know Clan Battle-Born have something to do with it." Fralia put in, eagerly. "It'd be best to start by befriending some of their members." Avulstein said, sitting in the nearest chair. "Then that's where I'll start." She decided, bidding the mother and son farewell. She returned to the carriage and fed the information to her husband, who was watching their daughter in her cradle beside their bed. They agreed they would go into the city the following morning and gather leads on Thoralds' whereabouts. For the night though, they were content to watch over their creation in blissful harmony. Cheryl though, wondered how they would manage juggling the life of Stormcloak spies and be good parents to their daughter.

The sun rose and the couple prepared to go into the city, to gather more information on the Battle-Born. They paid one of the Khajiit traders good money to look after their child. The Khajiit agreed and he recognised Benor from his travels. Benor was disguised as a travelling monk spreading enlightenment among the people. "We only have one lead, really." Cheryl said, tying her flowing black hair back. "Yeah, what's that?" Benor asked, sharpening his dagger. "They've got some enemies, the Battle-Born clan and they're convinced they're involved. I'll be checking out the son, Idolaf. I suggest you start at the classy tavern, The Drunken Huntsman. Apparently, the patriarch frequents it." She explained to her colleague. "Then that's where _I'm_ headed." He said, not taking his eyes off the dagger.

She walked the streets of the city and managed to locate the Battle-Born mansion. She saw a woman coming from the house and decided to infiltrate the mansion from the backdoor. She surreptitiously slid around the back of the house, making sure no-one had followed her or she had been seen. She proceeded to produce a lock-pick and unlocked the door. She had considered mapping the house the night before, to make sure no-one was in when she entered. She sneaked in, being as stealthy as she could. She made her way over to the wall where she pressed herself against it and moved slowly across to the doorway of a bedroom. Taking caution, she peered inside the room. It was isolated. A double bed was the centrepiece of the room with a few decorations typically adorning any noble nords' house. She made the decision to assess the entire mansion. She checked the other bedrooms, the result of her investigation reporting the house empty. She returned to the first bedroom where she stumbled upon a locked closet. She picked the lock and broke into a study of some sort. There were bookshelves and a desk. She examined the library and unearthed a handwritten document on the desk entitled: The Imperial Missive. Only a quick flick through its pages revealed Thorald's location. She needed to get this information to Fralia and Avulstein.

"Northwatch Keep." She said. She was responding to Avulstein's query, asking where his brother was. "Then that's where I'll lead the assault." He said decisively. "I'm afraid that won't be necessary." She said, dashing his plans. "You see, Northwatch Keep is Thalmor-Controlled and it is in the hands of the Stormcloaks to see your brother returned safely." She added to her comment. "Well, you better bring him back safe and uninjured. That's all I ask." Fralia requested, putting her hand on Avulstein's shoulder. Cheryl nodded. "But it is noteworthy that if the Thalmor discover we sprung one of their prisoners of war, it will likely be unsafe for him to remain in Whiterun." She had to notify them of this as it was a massive probability the Thalmor would find out. "What do you mean?" Avulstein asked her. "If and—more importantly—_when_ they find out about Thorald's release, he will no longer be secure in Whiterun. He will leave for his own protection. We won't force him to leave, but he remains in grave peril if he chooses to stay here. You may never see your son again, Fralia." The bombshell expelled a gasp from Fralia's mouth. But she understood and would rather know he was safe and not being tortured by the elf/daedras' that was the Thalmor.

She bid the family good day and left to tend to her new-born she was so worried about. She decided to leave Benor to see if he scooped up any information from the patriarch of the Battle-Borns'.

She tipped the Khajiit and thanked him for his help. She would certainly have to start looking for a permanent carer for her child. Cheryl read a book and waited for her husband, though he didn't return until sunset.

Benor arrived at their makeshift home to tell Cheryl of his failure at getting information from the stubborn old man. Cheryl revealed the crucial information she had gathered. "Then we're headed for Northwatch Keep." He said, reaching for the internal driving seat. "Shouldn't we inform Yrsarald?" She queried her lover, who had forgotten protocol. "Damn, yeah, I forgot about that. Then we need to send word to Windhelm immediately." Benor remembered the procedure now and he climbed atop the carriage, taking the external reins. "I'll send a letter detailing the dead drop location. We'll get it to the envoy in… Dawnstar, shall we say?" the spy asked her husband, anticipating a reply that came with a grunt of agreement.

They placed the letter in the couriers' hands with strict instructions to take it to Windhelm. He would return with Ulfric's response the following night. The couple waited inside their coach and received their orders late the next night. "They want us to infiltrate the keep, eliminate the enemies and retrieve the prisoner with as much stealth as possible." Cheryl said, summarising the contents of Windhelms' answer. "Then we're off to Northwatch. But we need someone to look after Sofie." The inevitable situation they would always face. "I know! We could leave her with my cousin Angi." Benor said coming the conclusion of their conundrum. "Why didn't you mention her before?" Cheryl asked, slightly angry. "She aint very maternal though. Plus, she's a wanted fugitive." "Well, she's our only option. It's too risky to leave her outside the Northwatch Keep."

They made their mind up and explained their situation to Angi (lied through their teeth), who accepted their request as long as they came to collect before weeks end. They adhered to her terms and promised to be back in four days.

They trudged through the soft snow and scanned the fort. It was going to be difficult. Cheryl took aim with her bow and eliminated the lookouts posted on the upper levels of the walls. This would delay their detection, but they had to act fast if they held any hopes of meeting the criteria set by Ulfric. Benor took out the guard charged with entrances and exits, making the infiltration a lot easier. He proceeded to kill the entire contingent of guards posted outside the keep with stealth and precision. He signalled Cheryl to join him by throwing a body over the walls.

Moments later, they were reunited and proceeded inside the fort with caution. Cheryl spearheaded the part of the operation involving disposing of all guards with steadfastness and accuracy, though Benor helped her get through some parts of it. So far, so good. They had kept to the requirements set down by Ulfric himself. They reached a tavern-like area. Benor unsheathed a multitude of daggers, handing half to Cheryl. Their plan being to hit the intoxicated guards with the daggers. They counted down from three and threw the daggers. Their aim was well-judged, their timing excellent. The daggers pierced through the first drunkard's skull, penetrating the heart of the second ones'. With that section of the keep done and done, the couple pressed on through the fort. Their onslaught was as fast and unrelenting, almost blowing their cover as they got ever nearer to Thorald's prison. They came to a corridor leading off to two separate corridors. They assessed their situation and Benor peered through the door to the left and saw it was a jail, most likely where they were holding Thorald. Cheryl and Benor made the decision to run a sweep through the jail and check for Thorald before they executed the other Aldmeri officers in the room on the opposite side.

They spied a Thalmor in his chair facing the other way. Benor took aim with his bow and in one fluid movement; he dispatched the arrow into the air, burying itself deep in the elf's eye socket. A quiet shriek signalled his end. Cheryl interviewed the prisoners whilst Benor took care of relieving the dead guard of his key to the cells. None of them admitted they were Thorald, instilling frustration in the couple, leading them to wonder if he had been transferred to another maximum-security prison. Their last lead now was the other room. Benor freed the prisoners, so long as they escaped out the entrance. He didn't want the Thalmor to be alerted of their presence.

As they snuck up behind the door, they heard the groans and moans of a man, Altmer tormentors questioning him about the nature of his allegiance to the Stormcloaks. The man, persistently refusing to answer them, had an admirable spirit, thought Benor. They were confident this was their man. Without hesitation, they counted down to three and barged into the chamber, Benor brandishing his war-axe while Cheryl wielded her ebony sword. They took on the three guards, Cheryl plunging her weapon into the hooded wizard, Benor beheading the elven-armoured mage and deflecting the blows of the un-hooded figure. A small duel ensued between Benor and his war-axe, the guard exercising a conjured sword. The swordplay came to a dramatic climax as the mage made a fatal error. He lunged forward, but tried to throw himself back, allowing Benor unrestricted access to lurch his blade into the Aldmeri official. He watched as the Altmer slumped to the ground, lifelessly.

He joined his wife who was quizzing the prisoner. "Yes, I'm Thorald. Thorald Gray-Mane." He said, breathlessly. With that brief introduction, Cheryl opened his shackles and he fell to the ground with a thud. He had clearly been severely deprived of energy and all the basic needs to keep a Nordic man of his middle age functioning. They led him out of the keep and out into the frosty bitter air. "I can't thank your kind actions there. I liked to think I'd have held out forever against their torture, but I can't be so sure I would have." Thorald thanked them, his gratitude transparently visible, but the couple had to approach a sensitive matter. "You can't return to Whiterun, I'm afraid." Cheryl said, her tone melancholy. "I had no plans to. It would be too dangerous." His voice slightly more upbeat than Cheryl's. "The witch-elves would have my hide. I don't think Avulstein is secure there either." His opinions left them quite astounded. "Then, we'll arrange for you and Avulstein to be safely escorted to Windhelm." Cheryl said, displaying the hospitality of the Stormcloaks. "I'd like that."

With that, they left straight for Angi's cabin in the woodland to pick up their child, Thorald going along for the ride. "She's been an absolute angel. Feel free to drop her by whenever you need to. It's nice to have the company." Angi said, cradling the infant in her arms. The child seemed very content as well. They caravanned to Whiterun with Thorald driving the coach, his method of remunerating them for their service to him.

Benor donned his monk guise and retrieved Avulstein from their mansion. Cheryl waited patiently, nursing her daughter and making a decision that would change their life. She would discuss it with her husband later.

For now, they left Avulstein and Thorald in possession of their mission report with a rented carriage bound for Windhelm. They were to pass on the reports to Yrsarald…


	3. Cutting Family Ties

The Agent

Cutting Family Ties- 4E 208

She skimmed through the dead drop as she sat in her chair, sipping her mead in her Whiterun home. Six years she had been at this job. Six years had the genocide raged on and on. If she was honest with herself, she was tired of the incessant killing, fed up with all the blood on her hands. But she only had to picture the Stormcloak banner to restore her faith in the cause entirely. Since the Northwatch Mission, circa 4E 202 she had settled down in Whiterun as a housewife. A housewife; with a big difference. She looked up to see her lively daughter playing with her dolls, enjoying the freedom childhood entailed. Her orders were reassigned to Arrald Frozen-Heart for a sensitive mission: overthrow Idgrod Ravencrone from her seat of power in Morthal as Jarl.

They had been working on it for the past two years. Cheryl had also become quite wealthy due to an inheritance for her dearly departed great-uncle, Arjundrrh and a high-stakes mission Benor had pulled off in 4E 204. They had used their newfound money to invest in various merchants throughout Tamriel, providing a constant source of income for the family. Things were pretty good for the three of them. "Are you looking forward to visiting your aunt Angi next week, little Sofie?" She quizzed her daughter, never once removing her eyes from he orders. "Yes, mama! She's so much fun. We play with the bow and arrows, practice against targets, tailor dresses." She had told her all this so many times, but Cheryl could never tire of hearing her child so happy.

Benor returned later that evening, a huge body-bag slung over his shoulder, no doubt living up to its purpose. He threw the bag up the stairs, kissed his wife and nuzzled his daughter, holding her high in the air. He followed after the bag and descended a few minutes later without it. He enquired about the orders in a low voice. She told him of their latest task. "Apparently we're close to getting that old hagraven off the throne and putting Sorli in charge, where she belongs." She replied, matching his low tone. "So what's he actual mission?" He asked. "I have to meet with Gorm, the contact and Idgrod's housecarl." "I know Gorm well we made a plan to get rid of her and then, you came into the village and _we_ left before the objective was completed." Benor explained to her, taking care to ensure Sofie was out of earshot.

Angi arrived to take Sofie to her cabin early the following morning. Cheryl made preparations to leave for Morthal while Benor went about his daily routine of gathering information on the Thalmor. Benor often spoke of how the elves were teetering on the brink of another conflict with Cyrodiil, one the Stormcloaks actually sought to prevent as it would divert the legion's attention away from Ulfric. Cheryl couldn't understand how that could be a bad thing, though. Surely a distraction was just what Windhelm needed to accumulate their resources. Though she never openly challenged Ulfrics' eccentric methods. It wasn't a great obstacle. She left at noon for Morthal, taking the trusty old private carriage which had since been consigned to being a more or less trophy carriage, as they didn't travel a lot anymore. There were fears that Jarl Balgruuf was going to join the Empire's side in the war, which Cheryl hoped to halt once she had deposed her aunt. The main pull factor keeping them in Whiterun was its astonishing ability to stay neutral through all the troubles of war. She didn't want Stormcloaks brainwashing Sofie, devoted as she was to their cause. Nor did she desire her daughter to be in the company of cowering Legionnaires. If Whiterun chose the empire though, she and the family would have to leave for Windhelm.

She arrived at Morthal for 17:06 PM and made her way to the tavern, where she had arranged to meet Gorm. She saw him sitting at a table and joined him. "I need you to deliver a letter to Captain Aldis in Solitude. It contains a delicate implication Idgrod's mental health is declining. It should be enough to persuade him she's not fit to rule." He spoke softly, a lack of desire for imperial ears to be eavesdropping on the conversation that could have him expelled from Morthal for all eternity, and possibly executed.

She took the letter presented to her and subtly scanned the inn, making sure no one was watching her as she stowed it in her satchel. She left the inn after a flagon of ale and a conversation with Gorm. They spoke of the goings-on in the court and talked of how a teenage Joric was faring with his own flawed mind as well as Idgrod II's search for a husband, and how all her suitors felt the urge to get as far away from her as possible after a five minute discussion. Her swift departure raised a few suspicions in the village. Why had the Jarl's niece left so soon? Why didn't she stay and visit her family? Nevertheless, the gossip lasted a matter of weeks, by which time Cheryl had long gone from Morthal.

She arrived in Solitude on a bright sunny day, despising the people she passed and reminisced of that vile injustice she witnessed five years ago as she saw Roggvir, solitude guard turned worthy Stormcloak murdered in cold blood by the city's headsman. Everyone in this city were imperial boot-lickers and not ashamed of it either. She approached Aldis with the letter and mentioned only that it was from a son of Skyrim.

She left the city after that, not wanting to spend another minute in the company of the empire-sympathisers. She awaited Gorms' response on how the letter went down with Aldis. Four days stuck in the house she waited for his reply. Finally, a courier arrived with a letter bearing Morthal's seal. She opened to find the contents lacking in her expectations. "I have reason to believe Aldis will be sending a letter to his colleagues in the legion within the next day or two. That letter's information could prove invaluable to the cause and we need to know what he intends to do about Idgrod." She read the letter in her head, realising that he meant the document in question needed to be intercepted. She vowed to do so and hurriedly shipped her daughter off to Angi that evening with a letter explaining she was to complete an urgent 'errand' for a friend. She spurred her horse to Solitude in hopes of catching Aldis' envoy. She waited outside Solitude, hosting a stakeout. Four hours after arriving in Haafingar, she followed a messenger, taking care to blend into her surroundings as to keep the courier un-spooked. She cornered him in the sticks and approached him seductively. She used her feminine charms and thieving proficiency to trance the man and steal his letter. She left him soon after giving him a night of passion, remaining in possession of his burden. She let him live. If it meant seeing another Imperial soldier sent to the chopping block for defaulting on their mission, it was worth it.

She collected her daughter from Angi the following morning. They departed in the hulk of a carriage, waving goodbye to Angi. She hadn't yet had a chance to properly investigate the letter and wanted to do so in the comfort of her own home with her husband, who was scouting a party of Thalmor Justiciars in northern Cyrodiil. He wouldn't return for at least another day, but they didn't have time on their side. She would have to read it alone, so she did. As they disembarked in Whiterun, she pulled out the letter while her daughter ran into the city to play with her friends.

"Dear Ondolemar, I have received information from an Imperial source that Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone I of Hjaalmarch is unfit to rule as her condition deteriorates. I await confirmation from your superiors' and my own for permission to formally retire her from her royal service." Aldis had already held talks with Tullius to relieve Idgrod of her duties, meaning an agreement was inevitable. She left her carriage in the able care of Skulvar and made her way through the city to her home in Southern Whiterun.

Five days later, Arrald Frozen-Heart sent her dead drops in the plains around Whiterun instructing the spy to eliminate Ondolemar of Markarth, the overseer of Thalmor operations in The Reach. She did as she was bade and three days later, Angi arrived in Whiterun to stay home with Sofie while she and Benor departed for Markarth, armed to the teeth with everything from great-swords to crossbows in their coach. They kissed their daughter goodbye for what could be the final time, for such a high-risks operation like this, and hugged Angi. If they were exposed on this enterprise, they would have to completely reform their identities or commit suicide, for, as Arrald often liked to say it was "do or die."

The orders hadn't specified a method of killing as they habitually did, so the couple assumed they could carry out the mission as they pleased. On the way, they decided to make it a public affair, for all of Markarth's court to see and to know that the Stormcloaks were coming. Which of course, was another off-the-scale risk, but they were willing to take many of those in order to get the Aldmeri Dominion quaking in their boots. They waited 'til night time to find a way into the city undetected. Benor concluded he would scale the walls and activate a mechanism enabling Cheryl to climb it too.

He did this, sprinting toward the walls of the city as the guards knocked off duty for the night. He steeped his fist into a foothold and used it to climb the wall. He did so, remaining anonymous with every leap of the way. He threw down a ladder, Cheryl making use of it to hoist herself up the walls. She joined her husband and gazed upon the city of stone. It was even more beautiful in the starlit sky, the moon smiling upon it with the element of fullness. They looked across the sprawling metropolis to the location of their target. By the next dawn, he would be no more.


	4. Targets

The Agent

Targets- 4E 208

"All shall know the might of The Dawnguard!" Cheryl yelled as Benor swept Ondolemar to his knees while Cheryl took aim with her crossbow and fired it, the bolt embedded into his spine. The guards were alerted and set themselves upon the supposed 'Dawnguard' assassins. They decided on implying the Dawnguard to inspire the governments to eradicate them totally, their final favour to the Volkihar Clan. They fled quickly from the palace and into the streets of Markarth, the guards of the city in close pursuit. They kicked down the doors that led out of the city. They sprinted to their carriage, which suffered many arrows buried into it by the archers of the guard.

They made their getaway into the pleasant countryside of The Reach, away from a tornado of arrows, but in danger of a run-in with the forsworn. Luckily, they managed to steer clear of the natives and made their way home within the day. However, they now ran the risk of being searched for by The Thalmor. If their description fitted that of the assassins in Understone Keep, they were in big trouble. The very thought of Whiterun being razed to the ground by Altmer for the sole purpose of finding them made Cheryl's stomach turn.

Sofie wasn't to be returned to her parents for another two days, so they had some time on their hands. They reported their success to Arrald, who had probably already heard the news without the aid of a dead drop, but they felt they had to anyway. Also, there was the possibility someone else could take credit for the assassination, so the couple had to confirm it was them.

They spent that night drinking wine and discussing Benor's expedition to Bruma, tracking the Justiciars allegedly on their way to Skyrim to help out in the quelling of the rebellion. He expounded the story of how he ambushed them as they endured the trials and tribulations expected of Pale Pass. He cut all seven of them down, taking them completely by surprise. Three of their number had already succumbed to the conditions of the border. He felled four of them before they had even a remote idea as to what was going on. The final three went their separate ways in a last-ditch-attempt to make a run for it. They all met their end at Benor's war-axe. The following morning, Benor ventured out into the plains and found the latest orders in the usual place, a log of wood.

He read them aloud to Cheryl as she sat upright in bed. "Fourteen new targets have been selected, each of them an essential asset to the Thalmor, and by extension, The Aldmeri Dominion. You are to eliminate these targets. Their names and aliases are listed below." His voice boomed to his wife who sat next to him in bed. "Let me see that." Cheryl said, snatching the parchment off her husband. "Maringol, Welnin, Londamo, Anth, Merost, Uval, Ermnir, Numani, Velforin, Goran, Baroengla, Rilmari, Delforus and Rulindil." She said, reading the list. "Sounds like a few nords in there. And Imperials." Her husband observed the names and concluded their origin. "We'll have to start gathering leads, which means a trip to Solitude. I think I've got a potential informant in mind for recruitment." She said, bounding out of bed to get dressed immediately. "What's this potential recruit called?" Benor quizzed looking puzzled at the thought there could be any Stormcloak loyalists in the capital. "Bryling." She simply said.

They donned their cowls and stood leaning against the wall, using the pillar in front of her to stay out of view. It was midday in Solitude and their quarry approached they faced the ground with their hoods concealing their faces. "Bryling." Cheryl said, not looking up from the ground of the exterior of The Blue Palace. "Yes?" a nervous tone replied. "There are whispers that your allegiance in the civil war lies… elsewhere than Solitude. Is this true?" she queried the woman, clever not to raise her face. "Are you implying I'm a Stormcloak. That's quite an accusation to go throwing around here." The woman said, increasingly suspicious of the hooded figures stood before her. "Are you missing something?" Cheryl said, producing an amulet with a silver inscription that Bryling had recently misplaced. An amulet of Talos. This could have Bryling headless within a day, had it been exposed to the court. "What do you want from me?!" She exclaimed, angrier now. "It's what we need, and what you will do to avoid the headsman's axe." She said, keeping her head down. "You will inform my associate of any leads regarding the following individuals." She declared, handing her a piece of vellum with the Thalmor targets' names on. "If you value your life, that is." She said, walking off and leaving Solitude. Her husband stayed in Solitude for the next three weeks while Bryling gathered the information required to find and kill the names on Arrald's list.

The Stormcloaks and Cheryl had grown agitated with the waiting, but after the three weeks, they began to put their plans into action, with lucrative results for The Stormcloaks. They found their first target: Maringol in High Rock, Daggerfall. He was stationed in the court and the couple made his death a private affair, again implicating the Dawnguard in the murder, as they had planned to do with the other thirteen targets. She sneaked up on him as he retired to his bedchambers for the night. As he lay prostrate on the bed, she buried the Dawnguard weapon into his heart with a note incriminating them.

Next target was Welnin. He was, according to Bryling, situated in Elsweyr. Benor took on that contract. He lived in an outpost with a legion of Thalmor but he was the leader and his officers would scatter upon his death.

He managed to dive his blade into one of the elves and steal his uniform. He wore his hood low-down, to avoid detection. He strode through the corridors until he saw the official rummaging through a desk, desperately searching for something. Benor approached him and buried the Dawnguard long-sword into him until only the hilt protruded from his spine. He too planted a similar note on his victim's corpse. Benor then left Elsweyr, the long trek back home bound to take its toll on him. He returned to his family exhausted from the arduous ride and more than willing to miss the next assignment.

Cheryl opened the Breezehome door to find her husband drenched in blood from his victims. People thought nothing of it when they saw Benor covered in blood because of their belief he was a 'hunter'. She asked him of the status of their enemy. "Not a threat anymore, if that's what you're worried about." "I thought so, judging by your blooded winter coat." She said, stirring the tomato soup she had been cooking in preparation for his return. "Sofie's in bed, sleeping soundly." She eased her husband's worries that she was in the room. "What news from Arrald?" He asked, relaxing in the seat. Cheryl brought over the soup and put it in her husband's hands. "We're to complete four contracts, simultaneously this time. They've allocated the targets and they're scattered throughout Cyrodiil, garrisoned at different forts, keeping Legates and their Legionnaires in line." Cheryl explained to Benor, much to his chagrin. "When's the deadline?" He enquired, praying it wasn't for at least another two days. "We've got three weeks to eliminate them. All four of them." She told, Benor breathing a sigh of relief. "No parameters?" He quizzed, "Only that they're dead in three weeks. And obviously, the one where we don't blow our covers."

**The couple slept easy that night, though spent the following day packing and preparing for the**** journey ahead. Cheryl wrote a letter to Angi explaining the urgency of the situation through deceit and lies. Benor arranged transportation for both spies and they agreed to meet up in Bruma. Cheryl sent the letter off via courier and retrieved the list of names and showed them to Benor, she proceeded to rip his half of the parchment off. Cheryl was to execute Uval, Goran, Rilmari and Delforus. **

**She packed her resources for the trip, sent her daughter off on the carriage with a fellow spy and ate her last meal before departing. She kissed her husband adieu after the meal and embarked on her trip. She boarded a hired carriage and re-read her orders to ensure she knew how to perfect the mission. She slept the rest of the way and was awoken the next morning by her chauffeur. **

**She paid him and made her way to Cheydinhal where her quarry was located a mile east. She rented a room at the tavern and unloaded her luggage. She couldn't risk the innkeeper nosing around her lodgings so she would have to carry all evidence of her true profession on her person. She could have easily killed him, but preferred to keep him alive for the sake of easiness. If he'd have died, it would mean an investigation held by the officials and questioning by the guards. **

**She left the inn and scouted Fort Farragut's perimeter, calculating how many bolts she would need to completely eradicate the lookouts posted atop the battlements. There were nine guards, she counted and reached a conclusion of about twenty-seven bolts as each guard absorbed three bolts to ensure their death. She unsheathed her crossbow and crouched, genuflecting as she aimed for the first guards' head. She certified his death in her mind, confident he would fall to his death with one bolt. She fired, the bolt whizzed through the air and embedded itself in the targets skull. With a yelp of agony, the guard drifted from the walls and plunged to his death on the hard ground. His murder would alert his comrades, who were already sprinting toward the guards posting, desperate to help their friend. But it was too late. The first guard on the scene glanced down to find his companion's lifeless body lying prostrate on the ground. Eyes wide, the furious commander ordered the legionnaires to spread out and find the culprit responsible for his death. **

**Cheryl listened to his enraged demands as she pressed herself against the walls of the castle, evading detection. She memorised a quote from her mission orders, listed in additional details. "There is a small escape route, used by some prisoners, located behind the main complex and fortifications." **

**She shimmied across the wall and turned when she came upon the corner. She looked left after the turn, to find a hollowed gate, nestled between **two hills of grass. She slowly leapt from the hill and down into a thin stream that led off from the gate.

She had heard of the stories plaguing Fort Farragut. Hundreds of years old, and still the subject of much gossip of what had gone on during the Oblivion Crisis and the supposed Dark Brotherhood Purge that was orchestrated within its walls and halls. She opened the gate and let herself in. It was dark and narrow. She produced a torch from her knapsack and lit it. The path was illuminated by the torchlight and she followed it. It led to a small grate, perfect for eavesdropping. She lowered herself and peered through the grate to see a Thalmor emissary addressing the troops, who had reported the death of the lookout.

"Awake the off-duty soldiers, we will need every able-bodied man and woman for what is coming. I sense this is more than just a bandit attack. "But Uval, those men need their rest, if we wake them now—"he was interrupted by the emissary's thundering objection. "I alone say what goes on in this fort, ME not YOU. We shall prepare the men for battle and they will be armed with weapons to fight." "Very well, Emissary Uval." The commander bade his superior farewell and left the chamber. Uval had his personal bodyguard firmly at his side and under his charge. The bodyguard looked quite young for an Altmer and was probably Uval's newest employee.

The emissary was poring over some papers on his desk. She sharpened her gaze and saw they were battle plans and strategies. She would have to take them and present them to her commanding officer. It could put them one step ahead of the empire and the dominion. And get them a bonus. She drew an arrow from her quiver in her pouch and aimed it at the targets head. She opened the grate gently and, with deadly proficiency, deployed it through the officer's skull. There was a loud groan of pain as the emissary slumped to his death. The bodyguard was stunned by the spearman's accuracy and in awe of her skill. In the ensuing moments, he remembered his duty and shook the admiration from his head, readying himself for the fight. Cheryl thudded to the ground with an almighty bang and swung round a battle-axe, just missing the bodyguard's head. He swerved out of its course and produced his own dagger. She clashed blades with him, but his flimsy butter knife was no match and the blade was snapped, leaving only the hilt of the dagger intact. He dropped the knife and reached for his sword, Cheryl did the same and a duel followed. But there would be no victor of the swordplay and Cheryl knocked her opponent to the ground, blood emanating from his wound on his right leg.

She bent down to face him, the colour drained from his face. "Let this be a lesson to you. Should you choose to re-join your masters in their plan for planetary domination, I shall hunt you down and finish the job. Unless, of course, you die here. You want to finish the job yourself, be put out of your misery." She said, and engraved her initials on his wound with her shortsword. He moaned with pain and his eyes shut. He was dead. She left the corpses alone and retrieved the parchment from the desk. No doubt the imperial soldiers would have heard the screams and slashes and were on their way to investigate the noises.

She departed the fort the way she came and rode her horse back to Cheydinhal. Hauling around the heavy saddlebags was exhausting for both woman and beast and she fed her steed plenty of water and hay when she returned to the tavern. She left the mare in the ostlers' care and proceeded inside for a drink and sleep. She threw her bags inside the room and ordered a flagon of mead. She made herself comfortable and read from her book. She waited for the Thalmor's deaths to circulate the globe. Four days after the assassination of Uval, news spread around Tamriel that the Dominion were growing increasingly paranoid after all these Thalmor officials were suddenly dropping like flies.

The next couple weeks proved to be taxing for the couple who had to undergo the toughest of assassinations and on a few occasions, the couple had to instigate the executions of the Thalmor targets, implicating them in conspiracies and plots to overthrow the dominion and treachery. They were glad to see each other after three weeks apart and, as planned, they met in an alehouse in Bruma. They decided against public displays of affection for now, in case they were being watched or followed or just in case people thought it strange and suspicious.

Benor threw back the door of the alehouse to reveal several patrons gossiping and chatting amongst themselves. He spied his wife in the corner, wearing a fur coat and beckoning to him with the exclusively Stormcloak identification hand gesture. He approached her table and sipped at a glass of mead she had reserved for him. They whispered quietly, not wanting others to overhear their discussions, despite the fact nearly all of them were too absorbed with their own conversation to care what the spies were saying. "What news of the targets?" Benor queried "All have been neutralised on my part. I also know you've managed to pull off your assignments without a hitch." She said, voice low, and impressing her husband that she had been able to keep tabs on him.

They daren't linger around the tavern much longer, so they each had another tankard of ale before departing for Skyrim to receive their next orders, as well as cash in on their reward and hand in the papers Cheryl had obtained at Fort Farragut.

"Follow me." She said.


	5. The Thalmor Inquisition Part I

The Agent

The Thalmor Inquisition

Travel-weary and tired, the couple climbed down the mountains and began to end their descent into the snow-topped regions of southern Skyrim. While they trekked, Cheryl pondered what affect their actions in Cyrodiil would have on the rest of the Empire. The Dominion wouldn't just turn a blind eye to fourteen of their senior officers dying over the course of a few weeks. It wasn't a coincidence and someone would have had to be behind it, to have orchestrated it.

Benor was just a few steps in front and the two of them were on their way to collect their daughter, Sofie. They agreed to stop off at Falkreath for supplies firstly though. The following two hours flicked by like minutes and the couple were soon welcomed by the warm glow of Falkreath residents… or the panicking screams and pandemonium of them. "It's here! The Inquisition, the Thalmor Inquisition!" One resident was bellowing in franticness and everyone was seemingly trying to flee the town. Falkreath was under Imperial protection, so Cheryl was mystified as to why they were fleeing, even if there was an impending warfare. She thought on a moment after fabricating that observation and realised they may have caused a full-scale, out-and-out war between the empire and the Dominion, which was both a detriment and a benefit to the Stormcloaks. A detriment in the sense that, the Thalmor may also see Ulfric Stormcloak as a threat and try to quell the rebellion with their own forces. Yet it would be a benefit if The Dominion and Empire could deplete one another's resources, weakening them to Stormcloak onslaught.

They sat down at a table in the corner of Dead Man's Drink with Solaf. "Is there any truth to this madness?" Cheryl asked as she lowered herself into her chair. "Frustratingly, yes, there is. The Dominion made the announcement a number of hours ago. A young traveller brought the word shortly after. No doubt all of Skyrim knows by now." He said, solemnly. "Do we know anything about what brought it on?" Cheryl enquired, knowing what it was but praying there was an alternate reason at the same time. Solaf, the Stormcloak Falkreath sleeper agent replied with: "We seem to think it was motivated by several assassinations within the Dominions' bases throughout Cyrodiil. That's all I know for now. I'll keep you updated if anything happens in Falkreath."

They thanked Solaf for his co-operation and left, making their way to Angi's shack. The journey took all but twenty minutes and they found their daughter practising with her favourite bow, an heirloom passed down the Ravencrone Family. Albeit twice her size, Sofie could still manage to use the bow and her talent was overly conspicuous from a very young age. The age of four to be exact, when Angi and her parents had shown her how to use a bow. Cheryl felt strong pride whenever she looked to find her wielding a bow with such accuracy and prowess.

"Angi!" They exclaimed and Cheryl embraced her cousin-in-law. "How has she been?" The couple asked, collecting their periodic report of their daughter's behaviour, even if they already knew she had been obedient to Angi, and did as she said when she said. "Perfect, the little archer's getting even better as the days go by." Angi said. Cheryl and Benor were invited for dinner, which they gladly accepted and the conversation was regular and far from the discussions of the forthcoming war.

The shack was lavishly decorated and luxuriously refined. Tapestries hanging from every wall, and a portrait of Angi adorned the wall above the dining table. From the exterior, the shack looked nothing more than a barbarian's habitat, but Cheryl knew it was much more than that on the inside.

An hour of tea and chatter, and the couple were done for this social task for the next few days, or until the next mission was initiated. The arduous, and strenuous road back to Whiterun was paved with grave perils and threats. But they could handle a few brigands and Dragons, the real danger lied with Thalmor patrols, Imperial troops rooting out rebels and killing off conspirators.

Fortunately, there were no perilous encounters on the road. But a nasty surprise lay in store for them when they returned to Whiterun.

"WHAT IS THAT!?" Benor boomed as he gazed up toward the city palace, Dragonsreach. Cheryl looked up too, to find Imperial Flags flying high above the castle complex, replacing Whiterun's neutral, city flag. This was a disaster and a cataclysm for the spies. They needed to leave Whiterun forever, for they would surely be discovered as spies. "Windhelm.!" The couple snapped, in unison. And so, to Windhelm they went, hightailing it back to their master.

They would have to arrange for someone to sneak inside their house and recover their possessions before they were seized by the city guard, and burn it down, without a trace remaining of The Ravencrone family in Whiterun.

Sofie was alarmed by the sudden turn of events and curiosly, inquisitively queried her parents what was going on. "The bad people have took over Whiterun, Sofie." Is all Cheryl had to say to her daughter, her heart racing at the thought of Thalmor raiding her home, going through all of her belongings. Angi, too, had only two options: be neutralized or recruited to the cause. They couldn't remain on their current status to her, it was too risky. She could either see the truth, and join the rebels, or refuse to join Ulfric and die a horrible death. No one wanted that, besides, Cheryl was confident she would choose The Stormcloaks, since her family was killed by Imperial Soldiers back in 4E 200, and she held no real faithfulness to the Empire anyway, they had always hunted her for killing the officers. Part of Cheryl's reluctance to send her daughter to live with Angi while they were on missions stemmed from her fugitive status.

They would work all that out in good time though, as for now, they needed sanctuary, Stormcloak protection from the Empire and Dominion. As they beat their horses to a pulp with the reins, in desperation to be as far away from Jarl Balgruuf's treachery as possible, Cheryl noticed a convoy tailing them. Thalmor convoy. She recognized the figure spearheading the convoy, barking orders at the driver. It was the young bodyguard she had supposedly killed in Fort Farragut. Her mark still imprinted on him as his right leg was tightly bandaged and scars littered his face from their intense swordplay.

He no doubt wanted revenge for the death of Uval, the Thalmor operations overseer at Fort Farragut. Cheryl retreated into the interior of their massive caravan, only to return seconds later, having produced a crossbow, priming it for firing. She lodged the bolt in place and aimed.

She shot, expelling the bolt into the air, only for it to miss its destination when the target dodged out of the way. Cheryl groaned, frustrated, and not realising she was trying to kill someone in front of her own daughter. She reloaded the crossbow and fired again, this time the Thalmor had used an inept officer as a human shield, the bolt severing the head of the unfortunate operative. Increasingly irritated, she resorted to old fashioned tactics, launching their remaining weapons at the convoy, hoping it might split the chasers in half.

She summoned her full strength and flung a warhammer at the carriage, beheading the poor horse pulling it. At least they had slowed down, with only one horse left pulling a total of six men in one carriage. "Are they dead, yet?" Benor asked, oblivious to the fact they were exposing their true work to their child, who had curled up in a ball in her bed in the colossal coach. "Nearly, I need to get closer. We need to get close enough for hand-to-hand!" Cheryl replied, not daring to turn her head as she spoke.

Benor complied with his wife's lunatic wishes and turned the carriage around to face them head on. He pulled the reins so they would turn to the left and ram into the Thalmor stagecoaches. They were almost a mile out of Whiterun now, into the wilderness and heading in the direction of Valtheim Keep.

The Thalmor coach was hit, severely damaging it. The two other carriages following the commander's flagship carriage saw their chance. The second-in-command , taking charge of his men, demanded they rain their arrows down upon the Stormcloaks. The archers obeyed, discharging a storm of arrows down on the spy's carriage. Most missed, but two struck Benor in the shoulder. "Arghh!" He yelped in pain, and his grip on the reins loosened.

Within moments, the second-in-command was lying on the ground, long-abandoned by the carriage, writhing in pain as he died, trying to pluck the killing arrow from his eye. Cheryl looked across the roof of the carriage to find Sofie clutching a bow, the family heirloom bow. "Sofie!" She screamed and threw herself in front of Sofie, and decapitated the last carriage driver. While the primary commander still lived, Cheryl was still in danger, as well as her family. She threw Sofie back into bed and assessed the damage done to Benor's shoulder. It looked worse than it was. She dragged his body into the safety of the interior of the carriage and leapt into the driver's seat.

With a forceful surge of energy and strength, she rammed the carriage into the commander's coach, throwing it off the road and into the wilds. The other two carriages disbanded and let the spies go, in favour of seeing to the recovery of the first coachs' passengers.

They were at last safe. Free from their pursuers . Cheryl would drive them further up the road to Eastmarch and begin an assessment of her husband's wounds and heal them with her variety of tonics and magical healing abilities. But she was torn between wanting to be fully rid of the chasing Thalmor and nursing her spouse immediately. She decided she would be gone before the Altmer had a chance to catch up and healing Benor.

She heard Sofie crying quietly in her bed, traumatised by the recent events. She rode her horses up the roads and into the freezing tundra of Skyrim. She was close to Windhelm and she made the decision to disembark at Kynesgrove and gather supplies and rest.

Once there, she applied her medical knowledge to the recovery her husband and mental stabilisation of her daughter. Sofie was distraught by the convoy attack and felt distanced from her family due to her murderous behaviour. "We all have to kill someday, Sofie. To hunt. It is hardwired within us to protect ourselves from predators that would deny us the resumation of our way of life." Cheryl explained to her daughter in a very mature way, one which she had never addressed her by before. "You killed that elf because he threatened our way of life. It was your natural instinct telling you to." She started to make sense and getting through to her, lifting her spirits. "We fight the Empire because they threaten our way of life, they wish to see Skyrim reduced to naught but tyrannical elves telling us what we can and can't do. This is why we fight. The Empire was once a proud and respected body, but it's time has long gone." Cheryl continued, and went on to teach her the philosophy and ways of the Stormcloaks, instilling Ulfric's liberal teachings in her from a young age. That was a good thing, she thought. That way, she wouldn't feel any sympathy or remorse for the enemy.

They sat in their bedrolls and talked through the night, waiting for Benor's recovery which would arrive the following morning. They had rented a room at the Braidwood Inn in Kynesgrove, a mile or so from Windhelm. Benor came around early in the morning, asking what had happened. Cheryl explained all and they soon left after that. The family was certainly changed eternally, but there was a sense of some normality left in the atmosphere, a sense of adaptation to their new life.

Benor and Cheryl discussed at length if they should begin the training of Sofie to be a Stormcloak Soldier, or join the agency like her parents. Their dilemma was concluded when Ulfric decided for them, that she would be a mix of both. A sleeper agent participating in major battles, trained in the art of espionage and the warfare experience of a revolutionary soldier. She would be the first of a newly formed faction, The Konatrians. A combination of Cheryl and Benors warrior ancestors' names. Kona, from Cheryls great-great-great grandfather, and Trianda, Benor's maternal great-grandfather. It was named what it was because it was the brainchild invented for the warrior descendant of both warriors.

She began her Konatrian training she would need in the coming years when The Thalmor Inquisition started in earnest.

To Be Continued…


	6. The Thalmor Inquisition Part II

The Agent

The Thalmor Inquisition 4E 221

PART II 13 YEARS LATER

**_A/N _**

**_THESE FIRST FEW PARAGRAPHS ARE GOING TO GO INTO DETAIL ABOUT WHAT HAS HAPPENED SINCE THE LAST CHAPTERS. THANKS FOR READING AND REMEMBER TO POST REVIEWS TO GIVE YOUR INPUT ON HOW TO PROCEED IN THE STORYLINE, THANK YOU_**

Thirteen long, exhausting years had this long, arduous war raged on, no end in sight. Cheryl woke up in her tent, Benor lying next to her, war wounded and nearing the last years of his service to the Stormcloaks. Flecks and threads of silver in her hair, she pulled on her chain mail and steeled herself for The Battle of Rorikstead. The Stormcloaks had long since allied themselves with The Empire, albeit very reluctantly. The Empire agreed to grant Skyrim independence if they could overwhelm The Aldmeri Dominion. When the Stormcloaks were massacred in The Battle of Falkreath in 4E 214, The Empire proposed a temporary alliance.

That temporary alliance had gone on long enough, the majority of Stormcloaks thought. Confidence had certainly decreased in Ulfric's morals. Many had left his cause when he had so faithlessly abandoned his principles and joined forces with The Empire. Cheryl too had to concede disappointment in her idol, loyal as she was to the rebellion. No, no. it was far more than a rebellion now. It was a combination. All humanoid races refused to be enslaved by the Mer who had so brazenly tried to slaughter them into submission.

Cheryl strutted out of her tent, brave, even though these could be her last days. 38 years old she was now, aging, though still an unquenchable fire burned in her heart, a ruthless warrior who would go to the ends of Nirn to get what she wanted: Ulfric Stormcloak crowned high king of Skyrim. But, as everyone must, Ulfric himself was ailing. His son, Bjorvingd was expected to lead the revolution after his passing. Bjorvingd was truly a great warrior. Cheryl had the pleasure of being in his company many times. His military miracles could spellbind anyone into the deepest trance. He singlehandedly retook Morthal from Cheryl's Imperial aunt in 4E 216.

But Cheryl was finished reminiscing and she headed into her own son's tent, to ensure his safety. Denor was twelve years old now, and a striking resemblance of his mother. Her cold, blue eyes had passed down into him; his own eyes a streaming cobalt river. He too, was training as a Konatrian, like his sister, Sofie, who was now a fully trained Konatrian of 19 years. She had inherited her mother's features too. Her attitude toward winning: she saw it compulsory and believed harsh discipline was the way to win this war.

Cheryl met up with the battle strategist, Arrald Frozen-Heart, whom she had collaborated with before when she was living in Whiterun. Nowadays, wherever the revolution went, she went. She hadn't been to Whiterun since the day she left to cause the entire "Inquisition". The fourteen Thalmor officers deaths that she and Benor made happen led to this war.

"Where are the Dominion positioned?" She enquired, putting her hands on the war table. "To the west, by Markarth. Our troops are holding them off from taking The Reach." His voice was hopeful that they may drive the enemy from the Reach. "If they can push them back, they'll play right into our hands and we will have the advantage, enabling us to capture them while they are busy fending off our boys in The Reach."

Cheryl took her own battle orders, woke Benor and set off with her husband to her station. She passed Sofie practising with the infamous Ravencrone Family Bow. Her daughter blew a kiss as she exchanged glances with her mother, riding her horse to the battlefield, alongside her father and a small platoon of soldiers. Cheryl had been assigned to fight the Thalmor at Rorikstead, a mile or so north of their encampment.

They came upon the town to find it crawling with Thalmor. Cheryl gave an order to a soldier with a gesture, indicating he was to scout the area. The small group stayed behind and waited for his response. He returned with a report of their number. "I estimate around forty of them, altogether." The scout said. Cheryl and Benor exchanged looks. They were outnumbered by around twenty, the Thalmor having doubled the number of men The Stormcloak squadron was made up of.

The citizens of Rorikstead looked forlorn, depressed and more than anything,_ oppressed _by the Thalmor and their overlord-like behaviour. The couple decided they would try and rescue the residents of the sleepy little village, as well as defeat The Thalmor forces garrisoned at the village. "When I count to three, we shall all emerge from our hiding place and unleash fury upon The Thalmor!" Cheryl exclaimed, leaping from her steed and splitting open a Thalmor official's stomach, letting his body flop to the ground before moving onto her next victim.

She sprinted forward in time to surprise another officer who was just turning round to face his Stormcloak killer. She twirled her sword into his face, his head morphing into a red spray. She looked round to find her fellow Stormcloaks wreaking havoc on the Altmer demons who had stolen Rorikstead from the Nords. She looked across the village to see the captain fleeing in a carriage. She decided to go after him. She sprinted past the inn, exiting the village in a mere nine seconds, hard on the Thalmor cowards' heels.

Their stallions were fast, but too slow for Cheryl's agile feet, and she had caught up to them within seconds, Thalmor archers raining arrows down upon her. She also noticed some of them wielded her prized weapon—the crossbow. Cheryl was heartbroken that such a useful and progressive device had fallen into the hands of such a domineering faction. She recognised the captain's face. No, it couldn't be. He was surely dead. It was Ancarion, the bodyguard she had tried to kill twice many years ago. The first occasion being in Fort Farragut, when he worked for Uval, the malicious and unpleasant Thalmor emissary to Cheydinhal. The last time they crossed paths was when The Ravencrone Family fled Whiterun, pursued by Ancarion and his cronies.

She was only a meter away from the carriage now, preparing to jump onto the stagecoach and eliminate its occupants. But in her desperation to ensure her arch-nemesis' death, she failed to evade Ancarions' crossbow being brandished at her body. She threw herself into the air, hoping to land in the carriage when she opened her eyes. The air cracked with the crossbows' report and blood seeped from the wound in Cheryl's gut. Cheryl was found by Benor who had been looking for her after their victory at Rorikstead.

He rode his powerful and muscular steed toward the road out of Rorikstead, where he saw a sight that shook his very being. His wife lay there, surrounded by a pool of her own blood. Tears began to flow from his eye, as he realised what had happened. He brushed the tears away, promising himself he wasn't crying. But it was too much; he was overcome with grief and sadness. He dismounted his horse and set himself down by his lovers' side. He examined the wound in her gut, a blasted hole where it should've been. There was no doubting her death. He sat on the road and waited for his accomplices to find him there. He didn't want to alert them. That would ruin what precious final moments they had together…


End file.
